Opening her eyes, Elena suddenly realizes she doesn't know where he is. "Damon?" she screams in terror, her voice echoing back over the water. Her heart is pounding so hard that it makes it difficult for her to breathe. Her head snaps left to right, looking for him in the darkness. Without even a sliver of moonlight, it's a futile gesture.
Suddenly the beam of a torch plays across the water like a searchlight as the boat rows away from her. Following the beam, the bodies come into view. Although dead, some look like they could be sleeping. Others stare with frozen eyes at the stars above...
Southampton, England, April 10, 1912.
It is almost noon on sailing day. A crowd of hundreds blackens the pier next to Titanic like ants on a jelly sandwich. On the pier horse drawn vehicles, motorcars and lorries move slowly through the dense throng. The atmosphere is one of excitement and general giddiness. People embrace in tearful farewells, or wave and shout bon voyage wishes to friends and relatives on the decks high above them.
A white Renault, leading a silver-gray Daimler-Benz pushes through the crowd leaving a wake in the press of people. Around the handsome cars people are streaming to board the ship, jostling with hustling seamen and stokers, porters, and barking White Star Line officials.
The Renault stops and the driver scurries to open the door for Elena, who's dressed in a stunning maroon jacket and purple skirt with a white shirt and blue tie. On her head is an enormous purple hat with a gold ostrich plume. Her expression is stoic as she places her gloved hand on his and steps out of the vehicle. As soon as she sets foot on the ground, he excuses himself to make arrangements for their luggage to be delivered to their state room.
"Elena is this not grand?" Her mother comes to stand beside her as her own eyes rake over the magnificent ocean liner.
"Yes, it is remarkable," she forces a smile to mask her apprehension when her father appears beside her.
"Shall we go, ladies?" he asks, his hat sitting regal on his head.
She nods and lays her hand on his forearm as he begins to lead them towards the long gangway of the ship.
Elena's so lost in thought, she cannot even fathom the grandiosity of their surroundings as everyone else nearby seems to be oohing and awing. Titanic is said to be the most extravagant and luxurious liner afloat, she cannot deny that it lives up to its reputation. Some have even gone so far as to proclaim her unsinkable.
A flutter erupts in her stomach, though not one of pleasure. It takes everything in her to stop herself from turning around to depart the boat.
"Elena, are you feeling alright?" Miranda looks at her with a critical eye.
"Yes, mother, I'm just a little tired. I will probably rest for a while before dinner this evening." Elena says nothing more as they're escorted to their luxurious state room though she feels her mother's eyes on her the entire way.
"Nora, can you please help me change?" she calls to her maid softly as she enters the room where she'll be sleeping.
"Of course, ma'am," she replies, halting her actions with a curtsy and hurrying over to help her out of her traveling clothes.
When she's finally alone and lying on her bed it takes mere moments for her to drift off to sleep, lulled by the sway of Titanic as she steams toward Cherbourg where more passengers are to board. From there she'll make a final port of call in Queenstown, Ireland before sailing west across the Atlantic.
When they arrive in the first class dining room, Damon pulls a chair out for Elena, pushing it in once she's seated.
"Thank you," she gives him an ebullient smile. He is very handsome, exceptionally so with his hypnotic blue eyes and thick, dark hair. As she looks around the room, it doesn't escape her attention that many of the young ladies are gawking at him.
"This is a beautiful ship, Mr. Andrews, if you ever decide to leave Harland and Wolf, I'm sure Salvatore Steel could find a place for you," Damon takes a drink of his bourbon.
"I really haven't given any thought to leaving but perhaps that day will come," he chuckles, picking up his wine glass just as their waiter appears to take their orders.
"And you, Miss?" the man inquires, his pencil and tablet in hand.
"I'll have the chicken," Elena dutifully smiles at the young man.
"I think I'll have the chicken too," Damon winks at her then hands the menu back.
While the group chats, Elena can't help but feel Damon's eyes on her.
A short while later their food is delivered and the group starts to eat. Damon sets his fork down and swallows some water. After wiping his mouth with the linen napkin, he turns to Elena.
"Would you like to join me for a walk on the promenade deck tomorrow? If it's okay with you father of course?" he looks at Grayson.
"Of course, Mr. Salvatore. I'm sure my daughter will enjoy the fresh sea air," Grayson crumples up his napkin and sets it beside his now empty plate.
"If you ladies will excuse us, I think we'll retreat to the smoking room," Giuseppe Salvatore scoots his chair back and with a slight bow his wife, Elena and Miranda, the group of men vacate the restaurant.
"Wake up, Elena," she hears her mother's voice and her arm being joggled. "It's time to get ready for breakfast."
As her dream lingers, dancing in the way that dreams do, her eyes lazily roll open, glazed over with the remnants of it. Rubbing them with the insides of her palms, she stares at the ceiling for a moment or two before turning her head to meet her mother's stare.
"I'll send Nora in to help you get ready," Miranda leaves the room, snapping the door shut behind her.
Elena sighs, throws the covers back then sits upright. A short time later, she's standing in her room, preparing for breakfast when her mother enters.
"I would have a word with my daughter."
Nora quickly leaves, and Elena turns to face her mother as the maid closes the door.
"Are you ready? We're sharing a table with some very important people."
"Just about," Elena walks to her dresser to spray some perfume on herself. With one last look in the mirror, she vacates her room and quickly catches up with her family on the way to the dining room.
When their breakfast is finished, Damon excuses them to take a walk on the Promenade deck. It's accessible via the Grand Staircase and the sliding doors leading from the restaurant. Elena rises and takes his arm as they make their way outside and into the brisk air. Her heart is pounding relentlessly in her chest as they begin their stroll.
Elena and Damon walk side by side. They pass people reading and chatting in steamer chairs.
"You look beautiful today, Miss Gilbert," Damon's voice is soft, keeping their conversation quiet.
"Please call me Elena," she requests as they continue. The Promenade Deck encircles the whole of A-Deck. It's for the first class passengers to enjoy the sea air and get some exercise. Parts of it are as wide as 30 feet. Sheltered alcoves located at points along it are used to store dozens of folded teak deckchairs.
Her eyes fall to the floor below them and their pace remains slow. "Elena, you have no need to be afraid of me. What you say will remain between us. I would like you to always be honest with me. I know we've barely just met but I feel such a powerful yet inexplicable draw to you."
"Even if it's improper to do so? To speak my mind, I mean," she glances over at him questioningly.
"You may always speak freely with me. I'm not one to follow the rules, never have been as you may have guessed," he waggles his brows at her in a tease.
Elena draws in a breath and swallows hard. "Mr. Salvatore," she blushes, not sure how to reply to him.
Damon chuckles softly, his eyes taking in their surroundings. The deck is sparsely populated this morning, even with the sun high in the sky. It's an endless canvas that colors are tossed upon. Some days - like today - it is a pure, uninterrupted blue that stretches seamlessly across the heavens. At dawn, it is a child's painting, bright pinks and oranges piled on top of each other, reflecting off low hanging clouds and filling the world with a haze of wonder. When it storms, the harsh glow of lightning illuminates the gathering piles of dull grey clouds that are angrily pushing against each other. At night, the moon glows, giving the speckle of stars a guide light. The sky is alive, a constantly changing canvas of indescribable beauty.
"It's a lovely day," Elena muses, her head's tilted back as she stares at the endless expanse of blue above them.
"Not as lovely as my company," he pauses to let his words sink in. Noticing the tint of her cheeks deepening, Damon adds, "How about you and I go to the starboard side and see if there's any sea life? Perhaps we'll see some dolphins, maybe even a great whale?"
He lays his hand on hers, secures it in the crook of his elbow and smiles, gently urging her to follow him to have a peek at the endless ocean beneath them.
"Elena, I've talked to Lady Gordon Duff, she's graciously agreed to show us some of her lingerie designs over tea."
"Oh mother, that sounds positively scandalous," Elena pretends to be shocked and winks at Nora - who is helping her to fasten her demi-bust corset.
"Scandalous? Hardly dear. Now hurry and get her ready," she nods at Nora then walks out, pulling Elena's door closed behind her.
Elena runs her hand over her curves, watching herself in her mirror as she does - her mind conjures up an image of him touching her the same way. She wants to touch him too - his face, his hands, his obsidian hair that falls in tousled locks over his forehead. The very thought raises goosebumps on her bare arms.
"Miss?" Nora interrupts.
"Sorry," she turns from the mirror and steps into her mauve dress. It has a lace overlay with sheer half sleeves and matching bow belt. Nora helps her to pull it up and fasten it closed. Once finished, Elena picks up her little bag and joins her mother for the walk to Mrs. Gordon Duff's stateroom.
Elena's fingers are numb, she's barely clinging to the piece of wood she's floating on. Soon bodies are so thick, the seamen cannot row. Their oars strike the heads of the men and women floating en masse with a forever stare.
Hearing a thunk- like sound, she struggles to raise her head. Looking around, she loses the meager contents of her stomach when a mother with her arms frozen around her lifeless baby drifts by.
"Where are you? I need you, Damon. Help me, please, please, please save me," her mournful, terror - filled cries go unanswered...
How are you all doing with the isolation and social distancing? When I'm not at work, the only time I leave is to get groceries. Who knew that would be such a chore and that they'd end up limiting the amount you can buy? I've never seen anything like it.
Queenstown, Ireland is known today as Cobh.
Thank you all of you for the warm welcome for this story. You all know by now that these historical dramas are my favorite to write. :D
Huge thanks to Eva.
We'll see you next with WTBHTB. Stay safe out there.